Test of Courage and Heart
by Bob Stage
Summary: Boromir defends Osgiliath. But not all pain in war is to the body. Boromir faces orcs, his father, and his feelings. R&R please
1. A Rising Conflict

**Test of Courage and Heart**

I do not own Lord of the Rings

Chapter one

It was time. All knew it. It was time to abandon Osgiliath to the enemy. All agreed that there was no point in staying there to be overwhelmed.

Everyone, that is, except one man.

And his name was Boromir, son of Denethor, the steward of Gondor.

He walked around the ruins of the once great city. Boromir tried to imagine what it looked like in the days of its glory and power.

_Glory. Power._ The words echoed in his head.

Boromir brushed them aside. He had things to worry about.

"Gerhard!' He yelled out, and a tall soldier approached him, 'how many men do we have?"

Gerhard was an older man, a veteran of many battles. He had been an instructor to a young Boromir, and now they fought side by side inside Osgiliath. He had on dented armour, and a well-used sword that was still sharp. Gerhard was clever, and a good fighter.

Now he gave the garrison strength to his commander, "Two hundred wounded sir. Half of those wont recover. That leaves eleven hundred soldiers, nine hundred archers, and twenty civilians that may or may not help us."

Boromir stared, "Only two thousand men? We had twice that last year!"

Gerhard shrugged, "Some have gone back to Minas Tirith, most have died fighting Mordor."

Boromir was astonished that so many men could die in such a short amount of time. He knew many friends in the army. He was a soldier's man, and fought, ate, and laughed with some of these men.

Suddenly, the men on lookout duty called out in panic, "Orcs! An attack!"

Everything forgotten, Boromir grabbed his shield and drew his sword. It shone like a beacon in the half-darkness, "Rally, men of Gondor, rally to me!"

There was a shout of many voices, but it sounded vile to Boromir's ears.

Orcs.

Ugly and cruel, they gave shrieks of fury as they attacked the captain of Gondor.

It was a grave mistake. Boromir was a great soldier, and he could hold his own against any half-dozen orcs. He yelled out his battle cry as he defended himself. Running an orc through, he stunned another with his shield.

Then a cry answered Boromir's call. Dozens of armoured men rushed to their leader, swinging long swords. Orcs returned the blows with equal savagery. This was war, as Boromir knew it to be.

Boromir fought on with all his skill, as his soldiers pressed forward. The tide had turned against the orcs. Screaming, they fled as if Elendil himself were chasing them.

No one pursued them. The price had been a high one. Nineteen men of Gondor had died, and everyone else was wounded. No one cheered, for it was an endless circle, draining them of soldiers every time. They were losing this war.

And Boromir wished he could do something about it.


	2. Faramir

Chapter Two

The soldiers returned to the camp, weary and bloody. Boromir looked on as the fallen were buried, adding nineteen to hundreds of dead men who fell in this cursed place.

Boromir looked at the darkened mountains to the east. He smiled bitterly. How easy it was to be Sauron! To just send thousands after thousands of orcs to invade whatever land he turned his eye to.

Boromir looked back to the soldiers. They shouldn't be suffering the way they were. Some, no, most, had family somewhere, and some would never see them again. Boromir felt a sudden wave of guilt, as if it was his entire fault. Did he push them too hard? Would they mutiny against him? _What would his father say?_ The last thought chilled Boromir to the bone, as he knew what a hard man his father was.

Suddenly many orc-voices were heard as they approached the Gondor camp. Boromir sighed inwardly, but outwardly, he yelled the battle cry as he mustered a company of soldiers to repel this attack. Orcs never ran away for too long.

Boromir was showing the most heart. Many an orc lay dead at his feet, and he killed more and more.

The orcs pressed forward, bent on killing the captain of Gondor, and destroying the garrison that fell back more and more every day.

Even Boromir noticed the change in the tide, and strove to fight harder. It was no use. It would take a miracle to win this now.  
And it was a miracle that happened. In the form of a hail of arrows hitting the orc arrows. However, when Boromir saw them, he recognised not the arrows of a Gondor archer, but the arrows of the Rangers of Ithilien.

Joy flooded into his heart, "Faramir! Faramir has come!" He yelled in joy as he clove an orc in two. Another hail of arrows, and another hot on the first one's heels. Every one counted as more orcs died. The soldiers of Gondor, heartened by the arrival of the Rangers, fought to rally round their leader.

The orcs broke and ran. Defeat had come again in the same day. But this time, cheers of victory rang among the Gondorians. The Rangers were welcomed, as was the longhaired man who led them. He was Faramir, brother to Boromir.

The brothers clasped hands. They had loved each other since their births. And now they helped each other out in war.

Faramir smiled, "Boromir! A joy it is indeed to see you alive. I've brought three hundred Rangers to aid you in this conflict."

Boromir smiled, "You bring reinforcements at no better a time than now, little brother."

Faramir looked grave, "Ithilien is a battlefield. My Rangers are hard pressed. Three hundred is quite a drain in our manpower, but we seemed well established enough."

Boromir grunted, "Then you have better times than I. Osgiliath is on the verge of being overrun. My men are dying every day."

Faramir looked troubled. His brother was weary, and his men were exhausted and dying. Osgiliath would surely fall, "Father pushes you too hard."

Boromir shook his head, "I can save this city! My men just need encouragement. I must go and prepare the next watch." He got up, calling to the nearest soldiers. He yelled out cheerfully to his army. They called out in joy.

But Faramir had noticed that Boromir had not met his eyes as he had brushed away the subject of their father.


	3. A trap

Chapter Three

Boromir was kept busy preparing watchmen, arranging sleeping quarters, and such jobs, so Faramir did not get the chance to speak to him again.

The next morning, Boromir and Faramir organized the troops to several posts. No fit man was spared.

As they walked from post to post, Faramir muttered to his older brother, "Boromir, are you trying to keep our father out of your mind?"

Boromir sighed, "He looms like a shadow on my heart. I feel sometimes that I will die just to gain his respect."

Faramir looked at him sadly, "He does love you, Boromir. It is I whom he despises. Next to you, I am useless in his eyes."

Boromir shifted uneasily. Neither of the brothers spoke for a while, and for once, Boromir was grateful for the call of alarm. It kept the guilt off his mind.

Orc-archers had been spotted, and it was a battle of stinging arrows. None hit anyone, until only the occasional arrow was fired.

Boromir lay hidden against a chunk of broken wall as his brother knelt beside him with an arrow ready. Faramir nodded at a Ranger next to him. The Ranger jumped the space between the rocks as an orc arrow missed him by a hair. Just as quickly, Faramir shot his arrow and was rewarded by a scream. The first kill of the day belonged to the Gondorians.

Boromir laughed as other men cheered at Faramir's aim, who in the middle of it all shot again, killing a second orc.

He ducked back down behind the stones as two Gondorian archers took his place, "You mentioned giving the men heart?" He asked with a grin.

Boromir smiled absent-mindedly, "Not that kind of inspiration. I mean something much bigger. To regain the entire city."

Faramir stared, "Father really does push you too hard."

Boromir only looked at his brother.

The end of day brought a nice sunset in the west. Some of the Gondorians believed it to be a sign. Others merely enjoyed the view. Most were talking about their success. They had, for once, not lost a single man, whereas they had killed at least two-dozen orcs. It was a boost in moral for them. Boromir found Gerhard, lying on his back in a patch of dying sunlight. He smiled at his former teacher, "A good day today. And who knows what tomorrow will bring."

Gerhard sat up, "What's on your mind?"

Boromir frowned, "I feel that this was too easy of a day. Even orcs are not so foolish as to deliberately throw away a score of their best bowmen."

Gerhard nodded, "I feel it too. There's something we've overlooked, something that we missed. Anything…"

At that moment, a scream of anguish ripped through the atmosphere. A hail of arrows slammed into the ground where the soldiers sat. One came near Boromir. It was black-feathered. Orc arrows.

It all made sense in Boromir's head. It was a diversion! The Gondorians had been lulled into an easy victory, and when they didn't expect it, the orc army had snuck into their camp.

Which meant they were now trapped.


	4. Minas Tirith

Chapter Four

Boromir got up and charged as thousands of orcs poured in from the direction of the camp. The soldiers, shocked and taken by surprised, faltered. Only the most alert retaliated with the orcs' speed. The rest were in confusion.

Faramir tried to organize a line of archers. Gerhard led a group of soldiers against the orcs' left flank. Boromir plunged into the centre of the orc line, with even his best soldiers behind him.

Faramir watched as he ordered volleys. Boromir would get himself killed if he kept this up.

Then it seemed they would all die. The orc archers had returned.

Boromir turned once to look back and saw the archers. Suddenly, he gave a little smile of savage defiance.

Faramir knew that by that last look, Boromir was fighting now for pride. He had always been a proud person, and it had only been when he had been defeated time after time in Osgiliath that he had lost his confidence. Yet even then, Faramir knew the phase would be temporary. Boromir was not only proud, but a great warrior, and he would always fight to win back this ancient city of his people.

And now Faramir knew the phase was over. Boromir had hit rock bottom and now he was climbing back to the top.

Boromir fought his way back to the line of Rangers and Gondor archers who were holding the orc archers at bay. He turned back to his soldiers who had gotten over their shock. Suddenly he laughed aloud, "We're actually standing a chance! We're holding them off."

He pulled out his horn. It was special to him, an ox horn decorated with silver. He now put it to his lips and blew a clear, sweet note. As soon as it ended, he blew another note, and more followed. It sounded beautiful, and it stalled the orc-archers.

Quickly, he threw the horn to the nearest Ranger and grabbed Faramir by the arm, "Come brother! Let us destroy these cursed creatures!"

Faramir followed. Boromir was going mad. But the madness was contagious. Calling the Rangers, Faramir was hard on the heels of his brother.

Boromir was roaring as he cut down the orcs who in vain tried to overwhelm him. When Faramir and the Rangers burst into the fray, the battle was already won.

Together they made a fine sight, Boromir and Faramir. They were two brothers, one a powerful warrior, the other a shrewd thinker. Both had each other's back.

It took a short time before most of the orc-archers were dead. They stood no chance against the two Captains of Gondor.

Boromir waved his sword back to where the soldiers fought, "To victory, men of Gondor!"

The soldiers, under leadership of Gerhard, had made a brave stand. Boromir, always ahead of his men, plunged into the maelstrom of death. Faramir and the Rangers ran to right and left of the orcs and poured close-range volleys into the blackened horde.

Boromir, Gerhard and the soldiers were in a ring of defence. They were Boromir's veterans, and weary as they were with endless fighting day after day, they were up against the wall, they had had it with these miserable creatures they fought, and now they swung their blades as hard as they could.

Faramir, having run out of arrows, was hacking at orcs diverting their attention to the deadly Rangers on their flank. Some of the Rangers in the same predicament as Faramir were parrying blows with their swords.

Boromir swung his blade at orcs still trying to break the ring of Gondorians, and despite their efforts, they were gradually losing men. One man alongside Boromir went down when an orc-spear impaled him. Another replaced him, but they couldn't go on forever.

When suddenly, Faramir burst through the mobs of orcs, followed by dozens of screaming Rangers. The orc turned to fight this new threat, but that instant, the arrows of the Archers and remaining Rangers flew again. Boromir, sensing victory, blew his horn and encouraged his soldiers to fight harder.

The orcs, victory snatched from them in an instant, gave howls of despair, but this time, there was no running for them anymore. They were all cut down; none making it back to the river.

The soldiers moved slowly, weeping for dead comrades, and gasping in the air that they had killed to be able to breathe. They had overcome a great danger, but barely half the men who had fought would be able to enjoy the victory.

Boromir watched all around him. He felt something that he had not felt in a while. He felt the satisfaction of winning. This wasn't like when all he noticed were the casualties. All he noticed was the survivors. The bloody, bone-weary men who had never fought this hard maybe in their whole life. Boromir smiled at the faces that now looked to him, and raised the cheer.

It started as a trickle, and then a flood as more men joined Boromir in the cheer for victory.

Faramir weaved his way through the cheering men, and pulled Boromir to one side, "Boromir, you've given these men hope, but we can't go on like this. We need more men. I'm down to two hundred thirty-two Rangers. There are six hundred nineteen archers, and five hundred fifty-three soldiers. We cannot go on like this."

Boromir nodded grimly, "And I know what to do about it."

He had to ride to his country's capital city. Minas Tirith; a great city, and the home of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and father of Boromir and Faramir.

Faramir reading his brother's mind, nodded, "I will assume charge here until you return."

Boromir smiled and hugged his beloved brother, "I won't be gone long."

The next day, Boromir mounted a fresh horse and rode to the white marble city. He glowed with pride and excitement at the sight. It seemed to be carved into the mountain, shining in the bright sun. It made Boromir forget the bloodstained, unforgiving battlefield of Osgiliath.

The sentries above the gate cheered when they saw his face. People called out greetings as Boromir rode through the city. If it hadn't been so urgent, he would have returned every greeting gladly. But this was different, for Boromir was here to save the Osgiliath garrison. And to do that, he had to bring reinforcements back with him. That, however, required the permission of the Steward

He had to see his father.


	5. Father and Son

Chapter five

Boromir had a nervous feeling in him as he walked up the stone steps towards the Citadel. Faramir had said his father loved him dearly. Indeed, he had always had a pride in him. Yet he was a hard man to talk to, especially with the kind of news that Boromir was delivering, and months of defeat and giving way made Boromir unsure of this.

He could see a group of people heading towards him. He could see the helmets of the Tower Guard among them. Boromir also knew the man in front of the column.

Denethor was a man who was aging. His hair was greying, lines grew on his face, and the fact that he was under immense pressure did not help. Boromir had seen him with a small smile on his face, and he had also seen him with a face as grim as the mountains of Mordor themselves. Boromir took a deep breath and walked towards his father.

At first, Boromir only saw the hard-set, tight-lipped mouth, and narrow eyes. Then, he saw tears. Tears flowed down Denethor's face as he gripped his oldest son in a death embrace. Boromir, overcome by it, began also to shed tears.

Denethor looked into Boromir's face, "My son,' he said quietly, 'It does me a great joy to see thy face again. Come inside. I will organize a meal for the two of us."

Boromir smiled. He was home, and unexpectedly happy to see his father like this. Faramir had been right all along.

There was a variety of food on the table, and Boromir discovered he was ravenously hungry. After both of them had eaten, Denethor turned his face to Boromir, "So. What news do you bring to your father?"

Boromir spoke, "Much news, some good, some very grave. I will tell you all of it."

So Boromir started into the long story that had started when he had first entered Osgiliath. By the time he had finished, Denethor looked thoughtful, his face betraying nothing. Then, after a minute, he frowned, "What is Faramir doing in Osgiliath as Ithilien is attacked?"

Boromir shrugged, "He arrived just as we were about to lose another fight. He has been useful to us. Three hundred Rangers is a strong encouragement."

Denethor snorted, "Bah! He is not doing his duty. His duty is to defend Ithilien, not to abandon it to a few hundred leaderless Rangers."

Boromir looked indignant, "Faramir's arrival was crucial to us. As for Ithilien, he says he felt they are well established enough. He wouldn't have come otherwise."

Denethor merely grunted in thought.

Boromir decided now to request what he had come home for, "Father, I have told you our latest garrison strength. We are about to be overwhelmed by Mordor forces. We are in great need of reinforcements. Even seven hundred would give us half as many again."

Denethor looked at him. Then he spoke, "There are, if I can remember, around three thousand men enlisted in Minas Tirith. I myself expect five hundred reinforcements from the coast, and another hundred from Imrahil of Dol Amroth. I will give younine hundred men. That will be enough surely?"

Boromir nodded gratefully.nine hundred reinforcements would definitely be a help to him. 'But for how long?' he wondered. In reality, he said, "Thank you father."

He stood to leave, when Denethor held up a hand, "And Boromir. I want Faramir out of Osgiliath. He has his own duty without taking yours away from you."

Boromir bowed slightly, and left to return to Osgiliath.


	6. Rumours and Betrayal

Chapter six

The next day, nine hundred soldiers and archers were ready and assembled. Boromir had watched them arrive. He came down from the wall. Seeing him approach, the men straightened to attention.

Boromir looked them over. Many were familiar friends, and others stood rigid. They were ready to perform their duty.

"Men of Gondor, you have been chosen to defend your country. Are you willing?" Boromir yelled out.

The soldiers returned with a great shout of 'Aye!' and thumped spears on the ground.

Boromir smiled, and blew his horn in answer. The sound could have been heard in Mordor, and it drowned out even the cheers of the men. Boromir drew his sword, "To Osgiliath!"

Just as the first companies started to march, there was the sound of a bugle, as the doors slowly opened.

Faramir rode in, followed by the rest of the garrison. At least what was left of it. At least a hundred men were missing. Not only that, but some were covered in blood.

"We were attacked' Faramir sounded as if he had experienced something terrified. ' It was a miracle that we managed to escape."

Boromir only stared. The situation had become much worse than before.

Faramir, still breathing hard, glanced at the companies of reinforcements, still standing to attention, "So, father has given these men to you?"

Boromir nodded, "He also demands that you return to your proper post.' He paused, 'while I, as your captain and older brother, order you and your Rangers to join our attack on Osgiliath."

Faramir was dumbstruck, and suddenly began to laugh. Boromir joined him. They were brothers; they knew each other well enough to joke even in times of danger.

"The march to Osgiliath' Boromir announced to all, 'is delayed." There were men who needed to be healed, and plans to be made.

Faramir wanted to go to Denethor and explain, but Boromir would not hear of it. Faramir went anyway, and returned with a sad face. Boromir didn't pursue the subject.

He was in a hurry to march. Every hour that passed gave the orcs time to regroup. But Boromir also wanted his veterans, and that meant to wait for them to recover.

The new soldiers were also eager to march, as every minute passed gave them the time to imagine what horrid creatures awaited them.

Boromir and Faramir, with the help of the veterans still fit, tried to still the worrying. But there were those troublemakers. One especially raised the men's doubts, except that Boromir could not trace the man.

Then on the seventh day, Boromir found the man. An older soldier, discharged from one of Gondor's outposts. Boromir found him, talking by a campfire. The others fled when he was visible, but the old soldier humbly bowed his head.

"None of that, you bastard. I know what you're doing. You've been discouraging the men with your lies!" He shouted the last word, so enraged was he.

The old soldier shrugged, "I only tell the truth, not lies. Sauron's forces could overwhelm us as if we were clumps of hay, being sheared by a horde of farmers."

Boromir frowned, "Have you no faith in Gondor's armies?"

The old man snorted, "What armies? We don't stand a chance. Only the Ring of Power could save us now."

Boromir paused," What?"

The man chuckled, "Isildur's Bane. The Ring of Power. Sauron's greatest weapon. He could have destroyed us during the war thousands of years ago, except that Isildur took it. None know where it is. If we could find it, we'd beat them Mordor forces back to the holes from which they was spawned."

Boromir lowered his gaze. Surely this was not true. Yet, if it were true… Then Gondor could use this Ring against Sauron. Osgiliath, Ithilien, and so much more could be regained!

His thoughts were halted when a voice broke in, "My lord?"

Boromir turned, and saw that Faramir and three Rangers had come up and were staring at the two men.

Boromir stood, "This man' he gestured at the old man, 'has been the one breaking our men's confidence. Put him under close watch for the rest of the night."

"Whatever you order, sir." The man behind Boromir gave an ironic bow and willingly went with the Rangers.

Faramir turned to his brother, "Is something wrong Boromir? You look as if you have something heavy on your mind."

Boromir blinked, then tried to shrug it off, "Oh its…nothing. Just tired. Come, brother, tomorrow we march."

Late that night, Minas Tirith slumbered. Even the sentries, who had sharp eyes indeed, did not notice an old man leave the city. He was robed in black, and agile enough to hug the shadows.

Riding a swift horse, the old man headed for Osgiliath.

An orc on watch saw the man coming, and signalled to his leader. The leader snarled and approached the man as he jumped off his horse, "You're late."

The man whom Boromir had arrested threw back his hood and grimaced, "I had to give them Rangers the slip, and they ain't blind, mind you. Besides, better that it's dark. I'm here to claim my reward from your master."

The orc opened his mouth to speak, but footsteps sounded behind him. The orcs turned and recoiled as a ringwraith strode through the ranks.

The old man shivered in fear. If he didn't have a good reason to be here now, he would have screamed and ran for his life. Even now, he had trouble from staying where he was.

"This had better be good, manling.' The nazgul's voice came out in deep, snarling rasps.

The man straightened up, "Boromir, the captain of Gondor, is filled with doubt. I have discovered how weak in spirit he is. The Ring is in his mind, and soon he'll succumb to its call."

The nazgul paused in thought, and answered, "News indeed. This young upstart will fall with his beloved country.' The orcs laughed until the nazgul silenced them with a wave of his hand, 'and yet, there is still his brother."

The old man nodded, "Aye. Faramir's no equal to Boromir in fighting, but he can think for himself."

The nazgul spoke again, "So, how large will the assault be?"

The old man chuckled. Gondor had once been the strongest nation in Middle-Earth after the fall of Numenor. Her armies marched by the thousands, and the fortresses had been in their prime. Now, however, the armies dwindled, the fortresses lay in ruin, and there had not been a king in Gondor for many years since King Eärnur fell. The Stewards had been far better than nothing, but many people knew Gondor was on the verge of being destroyed. Mordor was just too strong.

The old man answered, "Two thousand two hundred men march to Osgiliath, though where they strike towards, I do not know."

There was silence. The orcs waited for a reaction from the nazgul, but it just stood there, thinking. The old man guessed that the interrogation was over, "Well, I've told you all I know. Now I want the reward you promised me."

If it could, the nazgul would have grinned slyly, "Reward? I offered you nothing, but I'll certainly give you _this!_" As he uttered the last word, the ringwraith seized the man by the throat, lifting him a few feet so that he dangled in the air. The old man gasped and choked as he slowly started to turn blue. Then, at last, he went limp.

The nazgul dropped the corpse, "Once a traitor, always a traitor." He turned to the troop of orcs staring with some fear at the hooded and cloaked creature, "How would you like to taste some man flesh tonight?"

The orcs' eyes shone with longing and a harsh chuckle erupted through the ranks.

Boromir woke to a busy morning. This was the day scheduled to be the marching day for his men. And he was quite confident that the mix of fresh, strong men with experienced veterans would defeat the hosts of Mordor.

Gerhard brought in the last few men from the hospitals, so now the men of Gondor went to regain their pride, their fortress, and their confidence.

And Boromir would lead them to victory.

Boromir, at the moment was still thinking of what the old man had said to him the day before. It hadn't left his mind. But soon a roar of battle cries brought Boromir to reality.

Faramir waited for him at the head of the host. He wore the usual Ranger uniform, save for a pair of iron greaves. Boromir almost laughed in spite of himself. He could barely feel properly dressed without even a mail shirt, while Faramir would rather travel light. Only the threat of close quarter fighting could persuade him to where armour, and even then he did not always think to do that.

Boromir joined his brother at the head of the large force. Both Boromir and Faramir found it a pity that there was little vegetation between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. The Pelennor Field was a flat plan, basically, perfect for a straight fight. But this would be no straight fight until they reached Osgiliath. So, camped just outside the walls, the two brothers planned the attack.

"If I remember correctly, there was a part here' Boromir pointed at the map, 'down by the river's west shore, that there was a bit of a courtyard left. It's covered with crumbling buildings, like the rest of the city, but there's also a ramp that leads to a bit of a bastion that can be used for archers."

Faramir looked grim. Osgiliath was a maze; men could hide for a long time in the great city without being discovered, it would be a dangerous mission."

Boromir nodded, we'll split up the troops into three attacking blocks. You, Gerhard, and I will each have one of them. And we'll destroy these orcs once and for all!"


	7. The Final Conflict

Chapter Seven

"You're sure the plan will work?" Faramir stared at the map. According to the plan, Gerhard would lead the diversion to the west. He would be given five hundred soldiers, four hundred archers, and seventy Rangers. The Rangers and two hundred of those soldiers and archers would be the only veterans with him. Faramir would take another seventy Rangers, along with a hundred archers and two hundred soldiers from Minas Tirith along with fifty veterans. He would strike north of Osgiliath's west bank. Boromir, meanwhile, would take the rest, almost all of them veterans, and strike the southern border of Osgiliath, again on the western bank of the river. He would have the hardest job, as Gerhard's men would stay just outside of the city. They would form a square protected by shields. That would give them protection, and the archers would be able to stay behind them and shoot arrows. Faramir would be able to use the river to his advantage and could firmly establish his men behind buildings. Boromir would take the brunt of the fighting, but he did it willingly.

Osgiliath must be retaken at all costs.

That day, Boromir addressed the men. He saw fear in some men's eyes. He understood that fear. He had felt it in his first battle at Osgiliath. But he had mustered the courage to fight.

"Men of Gondor, you must now fight your greatest fear, and regain a fortress that is important to the safety of Minas Tirith and those inside.' Some of the men nodded in agreement. 'And you are going to die.' That got them shocked, 'the reason is that no matter what happens, you will die. Whether in battle, sickness, or the rot, it doesn't matter to me. That's in the future. What I'm concerned about is now. Mordor's armies, Osgiliath's fall, and you. Yes. You are going to fight as you have never fought before! You will scream as you cut down orcs, you will swing swords and spears for all your worth, and you will regain the one barrier between Mordor and Minas Tirith! You will win! We will win! We shall, in the name of Gondor, destroy these heathen orcs, and annihilate Mordor's power in Osgiliath!"

The cheers were deafening. Boromir blew his horn as loud as he could, but even that sound could scarce be heard over the army.

That night, the three groups set out, everyone completely aware of the plan. Boromir wished Gerhard good luck, embraced his brother, and led his men to the south.

Hours later, Gerhard organized his men into a loose phalanx, with the archers behind. The phalanx, thought it was loose for marching, was ready to tighten up, forming an unbreakable shield wall, bristling with spears. The strong, fit reinforcements, set alongside the tough, lean veterans of Osgiliath, would have no trouble forming such a protection when the hordes of orc-archers shot their arrows by the thousand.

Gerhard looked at Osgiliath, only fifty metres away now. He could see the watching orcs, could see them waiting for the soldiers to get in guaranteed killing range. He shouted the order, and the soldiers braced themselves to form into a moving, metal porcupine.

Forty metres. Thirty metres. Twenty metres.

Suddenly, the sky filled with short, blackened arrows. Instinctively, the soldiers locked their heavy shields, bent their heads, and halted as the arrows struck home.

Several dozen soldiers fell with arrows protruding from their skulls, but all that the orcs heard was the heavy thud of arrows hitting shield

Then the Gondorian archers and Rangers, returned fire.

The arrows of the Gondorians soared, tipped, and fell back down to earth. Gerhard supposed that, judging by the orc screams, that they now filled the streets of the old city. Now they paid the price. He even saw orcs falling from the bastions and ramparts.

Just as the orcs were hit, a second, third, and even a fourth, volley struck them in rapid procession. It was a massacre.

And it had only just begun.

A deep-throated roar sounded as a massive horde poured out. Orcs, evil, foul-minded, orcs. But they had not been the ones who had roared out. No orc could make that sound. Gerhard stared with fear at the great beasts among the orcs.

Trolls.

They waved large clubs, and bellowed like a thousand oxen. They even slew orcs as they fought to destroy the phalanx that was out in front of them. Then the arrows flew again. Trolls went down with up to ten arrows in their heads alone. But not all were stopped. Instantly, they clashed with the heavy shields, crushing several men before another volley felled more. Orcs followed behind them, hurling themselves on the soldiers. The archers, having killed the trolls, now attacked the orcs with their volley of doom.

Gerhard roared his challenge as he swung his sword. Two orcs fell headless. Another struck out at him, and fell to two spears. The phalanx had lost many a stout man to the trolls, but they now held fast, almost surrounded by orcs. The archers, who had backed away, were unopposed and still shooting shafts of death onto the orcs.

Now it was up to Boromir and Faramir.

Faramir could sense the diversion was working. He could even see orcs charging to the west of Osgiliath. He signalled to his men, and they slowly made their advance. An orc on duty came into view, but two arrows in his head silenced him forever.

With roars and battle cries, the men of Gondor charged, slaying as they went. Archers fired over their heads at orc-archers. Faramir himself was among them; aiming at the vile creatures he hated so much.

He hoped Boromir would survive.

Boromir lay waiting, noting that orcs ran to both the north and the west. Faramir had made his attack.

Now it was his turn.

"Charge!" Man and orc alike heard his yell. The Gondorians charged forward. There would be no phalanx, no formation. This was a street brawl, a war of close quarters and raw brutality.

Boromir blew wild notes on his horn as he cut down orcs like he never had before. Soldiers all around him were fighting like they never had in all the months that Boromir had been with them. When he looked to the ramp, he could see that the Rangers and archers had fought their way to the bastions and broken walls. They now poured arrows into the horde coming at them. The soldiers were in a tight circle, slowly advancing through waves of orcs. Arrows zipped down, each one killing another orc. Boromir quickly fought his way to the ramparts, beating back orcs. Eventually he went to the nearest archers, "How goes it?"

The archer nearest to him patted his quiver, "Perfect position for shooting arrows. We have enough arrows to keep going for now."

Boromir gave out a large call, "All archers with spent arrows, come here!' thirty archers ran to him, 'draw your swords. We're going to break that horde."

And Boromir blew his horn as the archers-turned-swordsmen followed him. They would all follow him no matter what. They would follow him into Mordor itself.

Boromir roared as he swung his sword at orcs, chopping off limbs, and crushing bodies with his shield. The men behind him knew their way round a fight; it wasn't long before they reached the beleaguered forces of Gondor.

Orcs gave way, shrieking wildly that their doom was upon them. Boromir fought ever harder, and the men followed his example. There may be orcs retreating, but most seemed now to have a mind that convinced them the fight could still be won.

But the tide turned remarkably. A hail of arrows came from the north struck the rear ranks of the orcs. Faramir's men came into sight, chasing another band of orcs.

Boromir laughed out loud and led his depleted men to victory. The forces of Mordor were on the brink of retreating, and Boromir could see that all that kept them here now, was the fear of defeating, and an orc larger than the rest, obviously the leader of some sort. Boromir called out in joy as Faramir came into view. Just as suddenly, another large flood of retreating orcs came into view. And close on their heels was Gerhard and his group.

Boromir blew his horn again. Now it was the orcs that were surrounded, even if they still outnumbered Boromir's men two to one. They just didn't have the heart to fight.

Boromir moved to Gerhard's side as arrows blackened the air once more, and the soldiers drew up their strength again.

"For Gondor!" Gerhard's voice cried out as the two of them, former teacher and student, led the final blow. The orc-captain, seeing the two men, lashed out with his blade. Gerhard screamed as he was cut down.

"No!" Boromir screamed as he struck out. The orc-captain dodged it and clanged his sword on Boromir's shield. Boromir parried like Gerhard had always taught him. But the orc was fast, and ready to block his moves. Boromir snarled when he got a slash on his arm. The orc laughed in triumph as he beat Boromir down to the ground.

But Boromir wouldn't die like a lion when it's down. He saw Gerhard's knife on the ground beside him. He screamed as he grabbed it and plunged it into the orc's heart.

Getting up, he saw that the orcs were finally routed. They were dying by the second, and it wouldn't be long before they were all dead.

Boromir wept as he closed Gerhard's eyes. It had cost them many lives, but it was over.


	8. Captain of Gondor

Chapter 8

Two thousand two hundred men marched to Osgiliath.

One thousand seventy-five men survived to see the victory.

Boromir knew the casualties, but the only casualty he felt special concern for was Gerhard. He looked at the grave of his beloved friend and teacher. He couldn't have held Osgiliath for all this time. Except, what if he had had the Ring? Would it really make such a change?

Faramir came next to him, "Everything's finished, the corpses have been cleaned up, and the soldiers are firmly established. The war will continue."

Boromir smiled, "If we keep it up with the kind of victory like today, Sauron will be seriously weakened."

Faramir didn't answer.

Boromir turned away from the grave and went to the top of a crumbling pillar. He looked back, and saw Minas Tirith, shining in the bright sunlight. It seemed to him to be so pure, so beautiful, and unable to be harmed. Then he turned to look at the blackened mountains of Mordor. They loomed high, and he could hear the thunder of Sauron's wrath. And he had a feeling the men of Gondor would get a taste of it before this was over.

Boromir climbed back down to the side of his brother.

Faramir spoke, "I'm going back to Ithilien tonight. My Rangers are anxious to go back to their comrades."

The two brothers embraced. Boromir smiled as he ruffled his brother's hair as he had done so many times when they were younger, "Good luck."

Faramir smiled, nodded, and called to his Rangers, who Boromir could see, were mounted and ready. He watched as his brother lead his men in the green cloaks over the plains.

Boromir turned to the men who had fought a horde to regain this old fort, who had shown more bravery than any other men, "What say we give them a farewell to remember!"

With that, he raised his treasured horn to his lips, and blew a sound as he had never made before.

And the army of Osgiliath cheered. They had won back this fort with hard fighting, and they would stay here to the death.

And they had the greatest man in Gondor leading them.


End file.
